


never let him slip away

by sherlck (scienceofdeducjohn)



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Fluff, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, also the depictions of violence aren't that graphic but i wanted a warning just to be safe, blood tw, marvin giving whizzer flowers because i needed that in my life, marvin is angsty but mostly soft and desperate, violence tw, whizzer doesn't deserve any of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scienceofdeducjohn/pseuds/sherlck
Summary: Basically Whizzer gets beaten up and Marvin comes to his rescue.-Marvin knelt down at his side again, hoping he was strong enough to hoist the stranger up to his feet.“What are you –”But he talked over him, not in the mood to lose any precious time. “This might hurt a bit. Grab onto me.”“You don’t have to…” The man muttered softly, but complied as he lifted up his head and wrapped his arms around Marvin’s shoulders. They were shaking with the energy it took, and Marvin felt that rage bubble up inside him again, his mind buzzing with the force of it.





	never let him slip away

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for homophobia, homophobic violence, and swearing.
> 
> Title from the song Never Let Her Slip Away by Andrew Gold. (All you Andrew Rannells stans know who I'm talking about!)

Marvin was walking the short trek home from a particularly frustrating visit at Trina’s when he heard it. Mendel had been there, shoving his adoration for Trina in his face with sappy smiles and intimate touches no matter how much Marvin glared or pointedly cleared his throat. He grit his teeth. It wasn’t like he’d ever felt a connection to Mendel, but at least he hadn’t had a problem with the guy when he’d been his psychiatrist. Or at least, not that big of a problem. Now, though? Every time he came to drop off Jason, Mendel would be there, hovering around Trina, lounging about in what used to be his home. His. He’d built up his entire life in there, spent years and years trying to make it work with Trina, raising his kid, drinking away his sorrows. It sometimes felt like he was out to show him exactly how wrong he had done his ex-wife, how bad he had been at his long-suffering attempt at a straight relationship. All he’d wanted was the wife and kid, the happy family, the picket fence. Mendel had swooped in as soon as he had taken a tentative step back, and greedily taken all of that from him. Now his ex-psychiatrist was raising _his_ kid in _his_ home with _his_ ex-wife. He shook his head, but his self-pity was momentarily forgotten when a loud scream broke the quiet rush of this cursed Wednesday’s night life.

“Get off me!”

It seemed to come from an alley just past the gay bar he had spent many a Friday night in drinking and chatting up mildly interesting strangers. Feeling a wave of adrenaline crash into his bloodstream at the chilling cry, his frustrations with Mendel and Trina and his life in general seemed to reach a metaphorical crescendo, and he broke into a run without thought. Not like anyone would miss him anyway should he be beat into the hospital, and anyway, a sick little voice in the back of his head reminded him, maybe he deserved that more than anything at this point in his life. Still, he rummaged in his pockets for anything he could potentially use as a weapon but came up empty – typical – so he guessed his keys would have to do. Music spilt from the bar and faded into the background as he ran past it, the up-tempo beat wildly out of sync with his racing heart. Breathing heavily from the ten meter or so run, he rounded the corner, just as the sickening sound of a fist connecting with a mouth reached his ears. A quiet second passed before the same voice as before rung out.

“Fuck you!” And yes, it was definitely the same voice, but this time it sounded like it was sputtered through a mouthful of spit or, Marvin feared, blood.

Situated in the shadows of the tall buildings surrounding it, there was no source of light whatsoever in the narrow alley before him, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did, he swallowed hard and tightened his hand around his mediocre make-shift weapon. The scene in front of him wasn’t pretty, and Marvin could only hope that he looked bigger and more confident than he felt when he saw the two men hunched over a squirming figure on the brick ground. One was holding him by the collar and was busy spewing vile slurs into the struggling man’s face, while the other stood firmly with one boot planted on his stomach, leaning his full weight on it to keep him down. “What did you think was gonna happen? Taunting us like that, huh?”

The man had just started to spit out an unintelligible answer when he was met with another fist. His head connected with the hard pavement with a sickening thud, and Marvin had to suppress the urge to groan at the noise. Both men laughed at the pained moan of their victim, who then miraculously opened his mouth to talk back again. “Give it up…” He rasped, “You’re never going to get a piece of this.”

A silent moment, during which only the distant noise of sirens filled the air, and Marvin held his breath.

“You piece of –” And the homophobe lifted his arm to strike once again, but Marvin had seen enough.

Channelling all the anger and frustration he could muster into this confident façade he’d conjured up with surprising ease, he stepped forward. “Hey, assholes!”

“What the _fuck_?” The man with his fist mid-air whipped his head around and sprang to his feet, giving him a shocked look that would be funny if it wasn’t such a goddamn mess of a situation. He was about his height but skinnier, and couldn’t have been much over twenty-five years old.

Before he could open his mouth, Marvin continued, hoping to force his advantage by holding onto the momentum he’d claimed. Stepping closer, he forced out a steady breath. “I called the police just now, they’re on their way.” He clenched his jaw to keep from grimacing at his own blatant lie.

But the skinny kid traded nervous glances with his partner in crime, who looked roughly the same age if a little taller and heavier. To be honest, Marvin wasn’t sure he could take them both in a fight. He wisely ignored that fact, and pushed on with his improvised plan and reached around his back, under his jacket.

“I’ve got a gun. Unless you two assholes leave my friend alone, I won’t hesitate to use it.” Right then, sirens sounded once again in the distance, and Marvin could see doubt settling into their faces as he mentally thanked whatever criminal had just robbed a bank. “Fine!” He shouted, praying to God that they would fall for his last resort; he started moving as if to remove his non-existent weapon from underneath his belt, “Have it your way!”

And just before his empty hand emerged, the boys scrambled forward, eyes wide and breathing harshly. For a terrifying second, he thought they were going to tackle him to the ground, but the next they were pushing past him, leaving him and the assaulted stranger alone together in the desolate alleyway with nothing but the sound of retreating footsteps on wet pavement.

Marvin whipped his head around to see them disappear into the night, and it was at that exact moment that his mind decided finally to register the situation. “Oh my God...” He sighed, deflating as he stared at his empty shaking hand, unbelieving of his luck. Had he really just risked his own safety for a random stranger on the street? He could have easily been beaten up by those two, and God knows how far they would have gone. What would he have had to tell Jason? That his father had let himself be beaten up by a bunch of bullies? Just now that Jason had started to tentatively gain some respect for him… But this mental breakdown would have to wait for now; he shook himself and, shoving his keys back into his pocket, hurried to fall to his knees at the man’s side. He was tall, his broad torso stretching what had presumably once been a fancy pink polo t-shirt but which was now covered with mud and blood drops. Marvin breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw that chest underneath rising and falling in a quick rhythmic pattern. His eyes then shot to his head, which was lying eerily still against the pavement. Marvin held his breath. There was blood dripping out of his mouth and nose and matting his short dark hair. His left eye had already begun to swell, and his lips were contorted into a pained grimace. Marvin gently put his hands on his shoulders, afraid the light touch would hurt him even more. “Fuck… Hey, can you hear me?”

The man tried to nod but hissed in pain at the motion, raising one trembling hand to clutch at his head. “Yeah…”

“Okay.” Marvin raked his head for his options; he could call Charlotte, but she probably couldn’t be of much help unless he transported him to her apartment, and it would take too long for her to come here. Or, longer than he wanted, anyway. And who knew if she had any medical supplies or medication suited to his injuries? Or if the guy needed complicated diagnostics? Right, so that only left one other option. “I’m going to call an ambulance, okay? You might be concussed, and I’m not sure if it’s safe to move you.”

“No! Don’t—” He took in a sharp breath and spoke through gritted teeth, “don’t have enough money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you could have your ribs broken for all I know. You need medical attention.” Marvin was already standing up, planning to walk around the corner where he knew a phone booth stood illuminated in the harsh street lights. “I’m going to call an ambulance. Period.”

The man looked at him with desperate pleading eyes, and something within Marvin finally broke at the sight. “Please. It’s not your decision to make.”

Marvin clenched his jaw, threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll bring you to the hospital, if that’s any better. My car is around the corner.” Without waiting for a reply he knelt down at his side again, hoping to God that he was strong enough to hoist the guy up to his feet as he placed his hands under his armpits.

“What are you –”

But he talked over him, not in the mood to lose any precious time. “This might hurt a bit. Grab onto me.”

“You don’t have to…” The man muttered softly, but complied as he lifted up his head and wrapped his arms around Marvin’s shoulders. They were shaking with the energy it took, and Marvin felt that rage bubble up inside him again, his mind buzzing with the force of it.

“Fucking bastards.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he adjusted his grip and finally pulled him up, muscles straining to keep the heavy weight of him upright. “Can you stand?” He asked against his slumped shoulder.

The man reacted by shifting his feet beneath him until he was leaning sideways against Marvin, panting and clasping onto him with one arm slung over his shoulders, his other pressed against his ribs. Marvin wrapped his left arm around the guy’s torso, and with his right grabbed tightly onto the hand currently on his shoulder. “Okay.” The stranger mumbled instead of answering, breathing out harshly through his open mouth.

“Are you ready?”

He furrowed his brow and nodded, and they started awkwardly shuffling forward until they were once again illuminated by the bright city lights. A soft rain started to spatter down on them, making the guy shiver, and when Marvin looked at the side of his face now, he could see more clearly the damage that had been done. He winced, but continued onward. Only about fifteen more meters; for once, Marvin was glad to be living in this awful neighbourhood.

For a minute, they stumbled forward in silence. Marvin tried not to worry about how slowly they were going but, as he did in most of his endeavours, failed spectacularly. So he grimaced at the ground and agonized himself over the situation until the man pulled him out of his own head.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Marvin’s car was in sight now; it was only a matter of minutes before they could begin the exciting process of stuffing him into the passenger seat. He shook his head slowly before glancing at him; his eyes were downcast, eyebrows still pulled together in an annoyed frown, as if the whole ordeal was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. But the occasional pained hisses and quiet groans gave him away. “What are you talking about? Of course I do. I’m not about to abandon someone I just witnessed being assaulted.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” His voice was bitter with experiences unsaid.

Marvin looked at him. “That’d better not mean what I think it does.”

He huffed out a breath, and apparently that was that.

Marvin didn’t want to push him on it, and he was saved from having to continue talking about anything potentially worth talking about by them reaching his beat-up Chevy. “Okay, this is it. I’m going to put you against the side of the car and then I’m going to help you sit down, yes?” As gently as his tired arms would allow, he did as he said, then opened the door and turned back to him.

The man had closed his eyes, and was clutching his shaking shoulders. By now, his shirt was completely soaked in a dirty combination of mud and rain and blood, and Marvin grimaced at the sight just as he opened his eyes again. He then glared meaningfully at the car behind him. “ _This_ is your car, huh?”

Taken aback, Marvin’s mouth fell open. But when their eyes met again, he noticed the amused glint in his swollen eyes. “Unbelievable.” He muttered, reaching for his arms again. He was too surprised to swallow down a tired smile.

The process of lowering him into the car seat was inelegant at best, and the man was biting his lip the entire time, visibly suppressing pain, but they managed. Before walking around the car to his seat, Marvin quickly shed his leather jacket and pushed the man forward in his seat to drape it around his shaking form. In his dazed state he complied, and pulled the obviously too-small coat tighter around his broad shoulders.

“You’re lucky my friend works in this hospital nearby so I know the route.” Marvin broke the tense silence as he turned the key to ignite the engine, which sputtered reluctantly, but sputtered to life nonetheless. Raindrops played a soft arrhythmic staccato against his car, and he turned on his wipers. Pulling onto the road, he wiped a hand over his forehead which had become slick with a combination of rain and sweat. He glanced to his right; the man was staring ahead, slumped against his seat. His hands were still buried in Marvin’s jacket. “Hey, put on your seatbelt, won’t you?”

He snorted weakly. “Why? It’s not like it can get any worse.”

“Just.” Marvin tightened his grip on the steering wheel, wanting this damn traffic light to turn green already. “Just do it, please. I don’t want you getting hurt even more.”

Making a non-committal noise, he did as he was told, albeit agonizingly slowly as he was simultaneously clutching his side.

They were halfway, Marvin having run no less than two red lights and going only five over the speed limit, when Marvin felt that it was increasingly unnerving how quiet the man had gotten. He needed him to say something, anything. That’s usually what they did in films, right? Keep the victim talking until they got medical help? He cleared his throat, noticing suddenly how dry it had gotten. “Hey, tell me the president’s name.”

Although he’d been keeping a close eye on him, it still relieved him immensely when the man’s eyes fluttered open and he spoke. “What?”

“You know, to show me that you can think clearly. That you know what year it is and where you are, or whatever.” He clarified, taking a right turn in high gear. The oncoming car on his left honked at him for swerving onto his lane, but Marvin didn’t exactly feel guilty enough to signal his sorry. “That’s usually what they do on TV, right?”

From the corner of his eyes, Marvin saw him roll his eyes. “Ugh. Don’t make me say it.”

Marvin barked out a bitter laugh, “I guess you’re thinking of the right man.”

“Yeah, rhymes with _Peagan_.”

“What the hell is a peagan?”

“How am I supposed to know? Something ridiculous by the sound of it, I’m sure. Not as ridiculous as our current president, though.”

Marvin laughed in spite of the situation, glancing over and noticing that the man had his eyes closed once again. This time his lips were going back and forth between grinning and grimacing. “Well, I’m glad you’re fit enough to joke around.”

“Don’t be fooled.” He murmured, but his voice sounded tired even as he breathed out, “I always am.”

Marvin bit his lip as silence once again filled the car, the gravity of the situation settling heavily onto his shoulders. “We’re almost there.” He said, mostly to himself. “Almost there.”

“Can I help you?” Said the bored man behind the counter at ER, barely glancing at them before throwing a clipboard at Marvin.

“Excuse me?” He felt his mouth fall open as he grabbed it with his free hand – his other was currently clasped in the right side of a spectacularly obviously beaten up man. “If it’s not obvious enough for you, I’m carrying a person who’s just been physically assaulted and might, oh, I don’t know – be concussed, have his ribs broken, or any number of exciting medical emergencies. He needs to see a doctor, now.”

“Fill in the form, please.” The man – a mister Moran, according to his name tag – helpfully offered, before gesturing to the waiting room behind them, “A doctor will see you shortly.”

“No, listen to me –”

“Hey,” said the man currently draped against him, “Let’s just drop it, okay? Just… Let’s just go sit down.”

Marvin suppressed a shudder at the warm breath against his ear, and nodded, but he made sure to glare at Moran once more before starting the process of carefully turning them around and making their way to the plastic chairs. “I hate this country.”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, “You and me both.”

When they’d finally settled, Marvin pulled out the forms, frowning as he read the first bullet point and realized he knew literally nothing about the man sitting next to him in ER at – he checked his watch – 11pm on a Wednesday night. Sighing, he shook his head. “Name?”

“I’m not dead yet, you know. I can write down my own personal information.”

But when Marvin turned his head, he saw that his head was thrown back against the wall. His chest rose and fell quickly and superficially, and his eyes were screwed shut. So Marvin chose to ignore him. “Name?”

“Brown.”

Marvin waited.

“Whizzer Brown.”

There it was. He started scribbling his name down when – wait -- “ _Whizzer_?”

An aggravated sigh.

“It’s just… unusual, is all.” Marvin grumbled, moving onto the next question as he felt an annoying blush creep up his neck. “Date of --?” 

“What’s yours?”

Marvin kept his eyes trained on the form, barking out a short laugh as he realised that in the absurdity of the situation he’d never even told the guy his name. “Marvin. I’m Marvin.”

“Nice to meet you, Marvin.” Whizzer was actually giving him a small grin now, and Marvin’s eyes were drawn to his lips where a small crust had sprung open. A drop of blood had bubbled up, and was starting to drip down his chin.

There was a cheesy pick-up line on the tip of his tongue about needing to stop meeting under such circumstances, but instead of wasting his breath he leant forward in his seat to swipe a tissue from the box on the table in front of them. “Hold still.” He wiped Whizzer’s chin as gently as he could, dabbing until the fabric turned red. He couldn’t stop the reflex of wetting his own lips with his tongue when he moved higher to softly press it against Whizzer’s split lip.

“Thanks.”

Marvin swallowed at his whisper, had to tear his eyes off his perfectly curved mouth and onto Whizzer’s eyes, felt the tips of his ears pinken at what he found in them. He pulled the tissue away, his index finger grazing lightly over Whizzer’s lip in the motion and sending electricity down his spine. Opening his mouth to reply – with what words he hadn’t figured out yet – a voice rang out behind him, calling them in and effectively dissolving… whatever that had been. He leant back quickly and stood up, offering Whizzer his hand but making sure to avoid his eyes.

“Finally.”

“So, tell me what happened, mister…” Dr. Brotzman looked at the chart Marvin had handed her before depositing Whizzer on the examination bed, “Mr. Brown.” She gave him an encouraging smile, already turning to fetch some disinfectant lotion and gauzes, wetting some of them with tap water.

Whizzer chuckled bitterly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

She stood in front of him, giving him an apologetic look as she started wiping the blood off his face. “Unfortunately I’m going to have to ask you to repeat the events as they happened to you. I need to know what happened if you want me to treat you.”

“I don’t even have the money.” His voice was thick with something vague that Marvin could only interpret as shame, and made him want to go back to that alley and retrace his assailants’ steps so he could personally throw them down a considerable set of stairs.

A moment of tense silence followed, none of the two onlookers knowing what the hell they could say to that.

Then, a deep sigh from Whizzer. “I don’t know… Well, I know sort of what happened but not exactly in what order, you know?” He muttered, but continued despite himself, “I guess they threw me to the ground from behind. Hit my head pretty hard. They… they kicked my side until I turned around, then my legs and my stomach. My ribs. They –” Whizzer paused suddenly, bit his lip; it split open again. He furrowed his brow furiously, then sniffed and winced at himself. “They…”

The doctor stepped back to throw away the stained wipes, and now Marvin could see the clean cut gracing his cheek, the purple blotches under his eye and on the right side of his jaw. He clenched his fists inside the pockets of his sweater. “They hit his jaw.” He supplied, concentrating to keep his voice level. “Several times, I believe. And they smacked his head back against the concrete.”

Doctor Brotzman nodded, and proceeded to launch into a series of questions concerning his short-term memory, experiences of dizziness or drowsiness, and many more that Whizzer replied to with short one-word answers. She cleaned and examined his various wounds while she asked and he answered, also moving behind him to look at his head. Finally, she asked him to take off his shirt. Marvin hurried forward to help him shrug off his jacket, and folded it over his arm. Somehow, he managed to get off his polo without help from either of them, insisting that he could do it on his own despite his constant groans. He pouted at the rag when he put it down next to him. “There goes my favourite t-shirt.”

Marvin let out a surprised laugh. “It’s a shirt. Nothing you can’t replace.” Apparently that was the wrong thing to say though, because now the guy was actually glaring at him for insulting the piece of dirty clothing.

“Does it hurt to breathe?” The doctor interrupted them, inspecting his rising and falling chest. Marvin followed her eyes and hands, and wondered briefly what she was paying attention to, but her intentions along with her words faded out of his conscience as his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Because Marvin may have been revised but he was still _Marvin_ , and Whizzer’s shaved chest looked trained and smooth and soft if not for the alarming purple patches blooming on one side. His shoulders somehow revealed themselves to be even broader than he thought now that he was shirtless, impressive muscles accentuated by the fluorescent lighting. He tried not to stare, and for the second time that night failed miserably.

“Okay, so here’s the deal.” Brotzman’s words shook him out of his reverie, and his eyes shot up to Whizzer’s, which he was relieved to find were fixed on his doctor, “Based on what I can see, and what you told me, I can tell you two things. First, I think you probably have a mild concussion, which explains your dizziness. It could have been much worse, and though you did bleed from the back of your head, I didn’t see any wounds that need stitching. Most importantly right now, you need to wait it out. Take the week off, stay in bed as much as possible, take it easy. That goes for your brain too; so try to refrain from work or anything else you might need to think hard about.”

Whizzer gave a small solemn nod, so Doctor Brotzman continued. “As for your chest pain during breathing and moving, I think you’ve probably sprained two of your ribs on your left side. Now, there is a small chance that they’re actually fissured. We could do an X-Ray to rule it out, but the downside would be that it would be a couple of hundred dollars at least for the stay overnight and the picture. The advantage is that we could potentially see whether there’s any bone pieces that have wedged loose or such which would need more delicate treatment. But it’s entirely up to you.”

“In that case, I guess I’ll have to take my chances.” Whizzer muttered, throwing her an empty smile. “Tell me about the cheapest option.”

So Doctor Brotzman, wringing her hands, again launched into a schedule of rest and staying in bed and taking it easy and when to call a doctor. But Marvin wasn’t watching her; instead his eyes were on the tired man in front of her. Whizzer seemed to take it all rather well, considering he’d just been beaten to a pulp, nodding along occasionally unfazed. He wondered if he’d been through this all before, but he immediately stopped that train of thought lest he get lost in infuriating mental images that would only serve to make him angry and lose focus on the situation at hand.

Ten minutes later, they were dismissed with a bottle of pain medication and an urgent plea for Whizzer to call as soon as his chest started to hurt more. Whizzer promised her once again that he would, and looked to the ground and then to Marvin, the question clear in his eyes. Without a thought, Marvin was back at his side to help him off the bed. “There we go.” If he was honest, his arms were starting to hurt with the exercise of the night, but he was careful not to let it show. Instead, he tried giving him a reassuring smile even at the awkward angle.

“Alright, thanks doc.” Whizzer said, though his relief at leaving was clear in his voice.

She smiled at him anyway. “Of course.” She gave Marvin a stern look then and, only partly jokingly, added, “And you take good care of him, yeah? Make sure he stays in bed.”

Stunned for a second, Marvin blinked. Once, twice. When he looked at Whizzer, he could see that he was stifling a laugh. Was he laughing at the doctor or at him? Did he really think it was that ridiculous that someone like Whizzer could be with someone like him? “I --” He started to correct her, but gave up halfway through his sentence, figuring it wasn’t worth the added embarrassment, “I will. Good night.” He started hurrying his way to the exit at her puzzled look, ignoring Whizzer’s shaking chest against him and the blush he felt enveloping his neck.

“Shut up.”

“Trust me, I wish I could; laughing hurts like hell. But Marvin, your face.” Whizzer chuckled, and damn it, even with swollen puffy eyes Marvin could tell that a smiling Whizzer was a sight to be seen.

“What about it?” He demanded, pulling the door closed behind them.

“So shocked. You were like a deer caught in unexpectedly gay headlights.”

Marvin snorted despite himself. “I was just surprised, is all. We’ve apparently gone from strangers to partners in a little over an hour. That’s just a tiny bit fast for my liking.”

Whizzer grinned. “Well, you _are_ taking me home, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am.” Shaking his head, Marvin’s eyes trailed down to Whizzer’s still naked chest, and he frowned. “You’re going to catch a cold like that.”

“What, on top of my sprained ribs and concussion? I think I’ll live.”

But Marvin didn’t listen; he deposited Whizzer against the wall of the waiting room and took off his sweater. “Here.” Slipping the sleeve onto Whizzer’s outstretched right arm, he leaned forward to pull the sweater behind his back, figuring it would probably hurt Whizzer’s ribs to reach behind himself. Of course, Marvin had miscalculated precisely how close the action would bring him to the other man; he currently had two arms on either side of him while his face was only inches away from his neck. Deciding not to contemplate the reasons for his sudden fluttering heart, he swallowed and finally stepped back as Whizzer shrugged on his favourite sweater.

“Thank you.” Whizzer’s voice was soft, and he was looking at his too short sleeves. Something within Marvin ached at the sight.

He cleared his throat and donned his own jacket from where he’d laid it on the floor for the brief exchange. “It’s probably not as good as your polo t-shirt, though…” Marvin trailed off, chuckling, eyes landing on the garment in question Whizzer was holding tightly in his left hand.

“It’ll do.” A small smile. Then, a heartbeat as he sighed deeply and Marvin was reminded just how exhausted he probably was. “Shall we?”

Back in the car, Whizzer didn’t talk other than to mumble directions to his apartment building; it turned out to be only a few blocks away from Marvin’s, in a slightly worse neighbourhood. The building itself was tall and from the looks of it had fallen partly into disrepair, but he didn’t comment.

Nine floors in a shoddy elevator that made him fear for his life later, they stumbled down the landing to an equally shoddy door. _Whizzer Brown_ , it said in neat handwriting on the cheap nameplate of his door. He managed to unlock the door and push it open with a tired sigh, and he turned in Marvin’s arm. “Home sweet home. I’ll manage from here.”

“Are you sure?” Marvin didn’t know exactly what one was supposed to do after delivering a concussed stranger to his home, but he was pretty sure he should at least make sure he wouldn’t fall and break his neck as soon as he shut the door behind him.

Whizzer started pushing him off of Marvin, leaning against his doorframe for support. “I’m a grown man, Marvin. I can take care of myself.”

Marvin gave him a tight smile, and nodded.

“But,” He took a deep breath, “thank you. For everything. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.” Whizzer’s eyes flickered between his hands and Marvin, and his lips were contorted into a grimace.

And he didn’t even know how to begin to make his reply convey how much he meant it, “Of course.” Because of course he had helped him. Of course he had helped a man who was being beaten up by a bunch of bigots. Were there any experiences he’d had where that hadn’t happened, where no one had come to his aid? Marvin shook his head, and repeated, “Of course, Whizzer.”

“Well. I’ll finally get out of your hair, it’s been a long—”

Marvin shot forward as Whizzer, who had leaned forward and attempted – foolishly, Marvin might add – to stand on his own two feet. Arms flailing, Whizzer landed against Marvin’s chest with a loud yelp, hands grasping at his back. The entire thing would be embarrassing if it clearly wasn’t so painful for Whizzer; he whispered curses under his breath as Marvin struggled to heave him upright again.

“Are you okay?” He asked, once both men were back in an upright position. He forced out his exhales in even breaths, not liking how he was immediately out of breath. The fact that Whizzer was flush against him probably didn’t help, either.

“Fuck.” Whizzer groaned, squeezing his eyes shut before blinking dazedly at some point over his shoulder. “I need to lie down.”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you out of my sight until you are.”

This time, Whizzer didn’t protest; he just sighed in acknowledgement. “Fine. The bedroom’s the first door on the right. But just so you know, I wish you wouldn’t have to do this.”

“I’m offended.” Marvin said flatly, shifting his grip so they were back in their more comfortable position and kicking the door closed behind him. Still mentally berating himself for having let go of Whizzer so he had hurt himself even more, he walked them through the kitchen to what he assumed was the bedroom door. Meanwhile he couldn’t help but notice how surprisingly stylish and clean his place was, especially considering the state of the building; the kitchen had been scrubbed until it blinked, and the living room it led to was neat and decorated tastefully in soft pastel colours. When they entered the bedroom, he discovered that it was just as organized; a freshly made up bed stood in the centre of the room, and, unlike in his own bedroom, there were no clothes strewn upon it and the floor. Sitting Whizzer down on the bed, he was wary to let go off him, so he let his hands trail up to his shoulders and rest there until Whizzer had settled in, shifting so he was leaning against the headboard. He was still wearing his sweater, but Marvin didn’t want to bother him with going through the motions of taking it off again. “Alright. Got everything you need? Got your painkillers?”

Whizzer held up the bottle in his hand in response, smiling tiredly. “This is all I need right now. This and some sleep.”

“Great.” Marvin smiled tightly, “I’ll just grab you a glass of water and then I’ll finally leave you alone, I promise.” He turned around to head for the kitchen, Whizzer’s quiet laugh chasing him out the door.

When he got back, Whizzer was already asleep, bottle fallen to the ground and lips slightly parted. Marvin smiled, glad that the guy was able to get some rest after this awful night he’d had. He put the glass on the bedside table, and folded the duvet over Whizzer’s sleeping form. He was just about to head out when something occurred to him – he could hardly just leave him here, without knowing for certain that he would not fall a second time without anyone here. But then again, he could hardly stay over in this stranger’s house without his permission. He guessed there was only one solution; he tore off a piece from the newspaper folded neatly on the coffee-table in the living room and found a pen on his desk, then scribbled his phone number onto it, and under it: _Whizzer_ – _Hope you feel better tomorrow._ _Call me (Marvin)_. He placed it next to the telephone on his night-stand before turning around, throwing one last glance over his shoulder to make sure everything was in order, and left him to sleep in peace.

It was 12am when Marvin at last fell into his own bed, exhausted, and so for once, he fell asleep quickly, lost to erratic dreams he didn’t remember in the morning but instilled within him a vague nausea along with feelings bordering on recklessness and desperation.

When his alarm pulled him back into harsh reality, he groaned, slamming the snooze button all too violently and making a snap decision to work at home today. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to going into work tired after the occasional sleepless night spent equal parts watching crappy television equal parts worrying about his life and Jason and Trina. And it was definitely not like he was waiting by the telephone like some lovesick teenager for Whizzer to call him up. It was just, he told himself, that he deserved this. After all, maybe he just needed to give into that dumb self-care thing Mendel was always going on about, or at least give it an honest try. Even if only to later be able to take pleasure in telling him that it was all useless bullshit advice, as was his tradition with every piece of advice Mendel offered him unprompted.

So he called into work, relieved when his boss basically told him that he didn’t give a crap where he worked as long as he finished his project by the end of the week, and made himself a quick breakfast. The newspaper stared at him next to his bowl of cereal, mocking him for reading and rereading the headline before giving up and letting his thoughts drift to Whizzer Brown. He really hoped he felt better this morning, and he hoped that he’d let him know. He also hoped that the idiots who beat him up had been hit by a car. He hoped their legs had broken, or at least that they’d lay there in the middle of the muddy street, clutching themselves in pain and aching with regret. Marvin took another spoonful, and kept imagining new deliciously painful scenarios until his spoon came back up empty and he sighed in defeat, guessing this was a good time as any to actually get started on the work he’d promised his boss.

Two black coffees and a somewhat effective two hour work session later, Marvin sprang up at the sound of his telephone ringing. _That might be Whizzer! Or not_ , he told himself as he reached the coffee table where the phone stood, _it wasn’t like he cared_.

“Hello?”

And Marvin’s heart jumped as he recognized the voice. “Hey, it’s Whizzer. I’m just calling to. Well, to let you know how I’m doing, I guess.” He chuckled, as if embarrassed to even be calling him at all.

“Yes, of course. How are you?”

“Pretty good, actually. Or, well, better than yesterday anyway. These painkillers are a hell of a drug, let me tell you. It doesn’t hurt anymore if I just sit still and don’t move. I can even breathe again!” He laughed a bright, infectious laugh that Marvin couldn’t help but laugh along with. “And I feel less nauseous and dizzy too. I’ve been walking around my apartment without any help, if you can believe it. I made breakfast and finally had a shower. I woke up smelling like shit, I’m surprised I didn’t make you throw up last night. But yeah, I’m doing okay, considering. I only fell down twice this morning, so far.”

Marvin huffed a pained laugh and shook his head, checking his watch. “It’s only ten.”

“Yeah, well…” Whizzer trailed off, “You gotta count your wins as well as your losses, right?”

“I guess so.” He smiled. He couldn’t help himself; this Whizzer seemed a completely different man from yesterday. This Whizzer talked and didn’t stop talking and laughed infectiously and whole-heartedly. Marvin just wished he could see him. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself, though.”

“It’s okay. I actually have a friend coming over for coffee, making sure I don’t manage to sprain any more ribs. So there’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Oh.” Marvin swallowed, feeling a little useless all of a sudden. “I’m glad to hear it, Whizzer.”

“Thanks.”

A moment of silence during which Marvin examined his watch, thoughts floating disorganized through his brain. He waited for something, but he didn’t know what.

Mercifully, Whizzer did. “Listen, Marvin. I was actually also calling because… Well, I woke up this morning still wearing your hoodie – which is comfortable and soft as _fu—_ err, as _shit_ , by the way. But I unfortunately understand that you’re probably going to want to have it back sometime soon. And, you know, I would swing by to give it back, but…”

He stopped pacing around the coffee table as he realized the implications of Whizzer’s words. “Oh! Yes, of course. I could drop by to pick it up tonight?”

“That would be great! How about six?”

“Perfect.” An idea sprang to mind at the suggested time, and Marvin didn’t allow himself to give it a second thought before the words rolled off his tongue. “You know, I could pick up some take-out on my way if you wanted.” He held his breath.

“Oh my God yes, please! I’ve actually been craving pizza from that little Italian place, around the corner of my building, _Il Mago_. So if you could swing by I’d be forever in your debt.”

Marvin laughed. “Again, it’s ten in the morning.”

Whizzer huffed, “Hey, don’t make fun of me. I was the victim of a hate crime last night, remember? I do believe you should be taking pity on me and, like, drowning me in flowers and gifts and shit. And wouldn’t you know it, pizza is currently at the top of my wish list.”

“Alright, alright.” Marvin said in mock defence, “I’ll bring you your pizza.”

“Good. And make it a large _Villa D’Este_. Extra parmesan, and – No, you know what? Just tell them to give you Whizzer’s favourite.”

Marvin laughed, _again_ , and simultaneously marvelled at the way Whizzer continued to make him. He raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head, still grinning. “Sure, Whizzer.”

Whizzer took an audible deep breath, and sounded serious when he replied. “Seriously, though. Thank you, Marvin.”

“Not a problem. See you tonight, then.”

“Can’t wait!”

Marvin listened until he heard a _click_ and then the dial tone before he put the phone down, sighing, and probably a little bit more giddy with excitement than the situation warranted.

It was nearly five when Marvin, washing his hands, caught himself in his bathroom mirror and realized he hadn’t showered since his little adventure yesterday. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and grimaced; he couldn’t show up to Whizzer like this, not while entertaining any semblance of pride. After a quick shower and a careful shave, he spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to decide on a perfume before ultimately settling for his usual off-brand Calvin Klein, mildly frustrated with his collection consisting largely of cheap gifts by well-meaning acquaintances with rather poor taste. Wondering idly if Whizzer would be able to guess the price range of his scent, he made his way to his bedroom to repeat the process of indecision in front of his wardrobe. Hands on his hips, he frowned at the contents as if willing them to multiply to produce something vaguely fashionable. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought himself a new piece of clothing, which had resulted in this rather pitiful collection. Back when he’d been married, he’d let Trina buy all his clothes because he honestly couldn’t be bothered to drag himself out of his self-hate spiral long enough to do something boring like shop for clothes. It wasn’t like he’d felt he’d deserved it, anyway. And now, he just couldn’t bring himself to make the trip to the mall; he didn’t even know where he should start, what shop, what garment, what size. Which was why he was currently sighing melodramatically at his reflection in the full-body mirror on the inside of the closet door. After scrutinizing every item he owned, he finally settled on a neat navy sweater and some semi-presentable jeans. Having donned them, he nodded at his reflection, satisfied at last, and checked his watch: 5:36 – he’d better hurry.

Thanks to his decent sense of direction, Marvin made it to Whizzer’s block in one try, and he quickly spotted the Italian place he’d been ordered to stop by. It looked a bit dingy, in accordance with the rest of the neighbourhood, which was probably why Marvin had never been there. He liked having money and didn’t shy away from spending it on high-quality products instead of… whatever this was. Still, when he opened the door a delicious and unmistakable smell of pizza greeted him, and he couldn’t help but feel his mouth begin to water.

Sure enough, the man behind the counter knew exactly what he was talking about when he ordered a random pizza for himself and ‘Whizzer’s favourite’; the man’s eyes lit up in recognition and he nodded. He was told the order would be ready in ten minutes or so. The clock read 5:50 by now, so he’d only be about five minutes late. A new record for him, he mused, sauntering back to the front of the little restaurant, figuring he’d spent the short wait watching the people walking past the window. Something caught his eye, then; a woman with an impressive bouquet of roses emerged from the florists’ opposite the restaurant, and he chuckled as he remembered Whizzer’s joking request for gifts and flowers. A tentative look over his shoulder – surely they wouldn’t miss him for another few minutes – and he stepped out the door, quickly making his way over to the tiny shop. _Just to look, that’s all_ , he told himself. Surely it wasn’t a crime to distract himself while he waited for his dinner to be ready?

The bell announced his arrival when he stepped in, and an old lady behind the counter greeted him cheerily. “Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”

Marvin shrugged. He never liked it when salespeople talked to him first, and today wasn’t an exception. “I’m just looking around, thanks.” He made a show of craning his neck to take in the heaps of flowers and potted plants scattered around the small square room, loitering by the table in the middle. Big showy bouquets of colourful roses and tulips and daisies decked the surface; one in particular tempting him to wander closer.

“Of course you are.”

He bristled. “What’s that?” It was out his mouth before he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. He tore his eyes off the light pink tulips: the colour was the exact same shade as Whizzer’s muddied designer shirt.

“Who’re they for? Come on, tell me and I can help you pick out the perfect flowers for the occasion. Need to apologize to your wife? Is it her birthday? Or do you just want to surprise her?”

“I…” How did one say _I may have saved a man’s life yesterday and now I’ve invited myself over to his place for dinner and for some reason thinking of his smile makes my heart skip a beat_? He frowned in concentration, eyes traveling back to the tulips.

“I guess you’ve already made your choice.” She laughed, and it sounded closer than he’d expected. A hand appeared in front of him then, grabbing the flowers as the woman brought them over to her counter.

“Does this say…” He watched her wrap them in a sheet of paper, tying it up with an equally pink ribbon. _Does this say: I’m sorry you were beaten to a pulp yesterday and I’m glad I was there to take you to the hospital and please take it easy for a while and I don’t want to be creepy but maybe I could take you out for dinner sometime?_ “I want to surprise him. Nothing more.”

“Hmm.” She gave him a knowing look, but Marvin knew better than to ask her to clarify. “That’ll be fourteen dollars please, sir.”

He bit his tongue at the insane price and produced his wallet from his back pocket, shaking his head at himself. It would be an understatement to say that this had not exactly been his plan. On the other hand, just the thought of those beautiful flowers going to waste on some loser’s pathetic attempt at an apology to his long-suffering wife made him annoyed enough to give in. If they belonged anywhere, it was with Whizzer Brown. And if anyone was going to give them to him, it was going to be _him_ , dammit.

All the way up to Whizzer’s door, he had convinced himself that buying those flowers had been the right thing to do, but as he pressed the doorbell, he stared at them in growing self-doubt. What had he been thinking? What if Whizzer had a boyfriend? Or worse – a girlfriend? This would look so wrong and – but the door opened then, and there was Whizzer, alive and well and smiling again at the sight of him, his eyes widening when they landed on the tulips.

“Marvin! Are those for me?”

And Marvin knew he’d made the right choice after all. Something within him fluttered wildly against his ribcage at the sound of Whizzer’s voice, and he offered the bouquet with a smile.

“Hello again. You mentioned something about wanting flowers, right? So, there you go.” _Damn it_ , he sounded so lame. He should have rehearsed this, came up with something witty that could be interpreted as either flirty or just politely attentive. “The colour reminded me of that shirt you love so much.” He added, not making matters any better.

Whizzer didn’t seem to mind though; he grinned at the flowers and dipped in his nose to smell them, catching Marvin’s eyes. “Well, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” He opened the door wider then, leaning on the wall for support as he started to lead Marvin into the flat. “Come on in. I’m starving, and the pizza smells delicious.”

Marvin followed him inside, closing the door behind him and setting the plastic bag with the pizza on the counter while Whizzer talked.

“You can hang your coat on the rack by the door. You want anything to drink?” Whizzer filled a vase with water, brow furrowed in concentration as he placed the bouquet in it and prodded the flowers so they stood to his satisfaction. Marvin wondered if he spent just as much attention on his hair; it was clean now, its colour revealing itself to be a rich chestnut brown, wavy strands styled to perfection. He wondered how it felt between his fingers.

“Well?” Whizzer gave him a look, smirking at something he found in his eyes.

“Oh, um. Whatever it is you’re having.”

“Red wine it is. Can you grab the pizza?” And he took the vase with one hand, lightly holding onto Marvin’s arm for support with the other as he steered them out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Elton John’s voice softly emerged from a classy record player on the coffee table and a modest round dinner table had been set. Sure enough, there was a bottle of wine waiting for them, and Whizzer moved it to the centre so he could place the flowers in its place. “There we go. Perfect.”

“Are you sure you can take wine with your pain meds?” And Marvin could kick himself for needing to fill the silence so desperately that he would resort to awkward questions about his pain killers.

“Of course.” Whizzer sat down slowly, leaning back in his chair before shrugging, lips pulled downward and head cocked in a comical questioning glance. “I don’t know. Probably?”

Marvin barked a surprised laugh. “You should probably check.”

“Probably.” Said Whizzer, filling Marvin’s and then his own glass. He smirked at him, lifting his glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.” He took a sip, letting his eyes take in the room. On first sight, it looked bigger than it was; tall windows bathed the room in the light of the setting sun and the walls were painted an airy white. They were also scattered with framed black and white photographs – most of them capturing what seemed to be New York City night life – and lined with potted plants and bookcases. He wondered how the hell he could keep it cleaner and neater than Trina ever managed. He didn’t ask, instead remembering he’d been too self-absorbed to ask Whizzer a question more fitting to his situation: “So, how are you holding up?”

“Oh,” Whizzer said, around a mouthful of the pizza slice he’d already managed to devour, “I’m pretty good. Still feeling a bit woozy, you know.” Marvin nodded as if he did know, just to be polite. “But the doing nothing part is what’s really the worst thing about this. I absolutely despise doing nothing; I’m not a person who can just sit down and do nothing but – I don’t know, watch tv for hours on end. I have to get busy, find work, go out and meet people and walk around the city, take it all in, get inspired.” He swallowed, taking a second before asking, “You know?”

Marvin nodded again, not knowing how to feel about the fact that he was more or less the exact opposite of what he was describing. “Yeah, sure.” He took a bite out of his own pepperoni pizza, humming in appreciation at the flavour.

“So I honestly can’t wait for this week to be over so I can get back to work. Pizza’s good, right?” He grinned, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“It’s so good.” He mumbled. It really _was_ good. How come he’d never heard of this place? “Hey, what kind of work is it you do, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m a photographer. I do family portraits mostly, but now and then I like to work on my own projects.”

The topic made him almost glow with enthusiasm, so they talked a while about his work, Marvin asking questions and Whizzer answering them with so much passion and excitement that it moved him. Whizzer’s radiant energy filled up the room, made something warm stir within his chest, made him hang onto his every word. So they talked about his work, and then Marvin’s – he quipped dumb jokes about his co-workers but Whizzer laughed at them anyway, bless him – and then about the weather and politics – they bonded over their shared hatred for the president – and before he knew it, his pizza was gone and the bottle of wine half empty.

“…and then I was like, so hold on a minute. You’re a _gay_ republican? And he—”

“ _While_ you were kissing him!” Marvin laughed, covering his mouth in a poor attempt to stifle himself.

“Well that’s only when it hit me!” Whizzer defended himself, visibly trying to keep from dissolving into giggles, “’Course I never would have gone home with him otherwise, what do you think I am? An animal? So then of course he was annoyed, and—”

“God, please tell me you left right then and there.” Marvin took his last sip of wine, shaking his head in amusement. When no answer came, he gave him a look. “Wait a minute…”

“…of course I did.” Whizzer began, “You know, after we—”

“Oh my God.”

“And then I told him he would burn in hell. If not for being gay, then for being a damn republican. And _then_ I left.” Whizzer looked incredibly smug considering the embarrassing story he’d just told, but it didn’t take long before he was giggling. “Your face, Marvin!”

“Well, _yeah_.” Marvin laughed, unable to keep from joining in.

Whizzer regarded him with a funny look that made Marvin a bit light-headed, chest shaking slightly, until they both quietened down and a charged silence settled between them. Whizzer looked away, the echoes of laughter lingering on his curved lips. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something. “Marvin, help me up.”

However bratty and impatient he sounded, Marvin all but shot upright at the demand, relieved at the interruption of the building tension. “What is it? Your dizziness getting worse? Maybe you shouldn’t have had that glass of—”

“Marvin, I’m fine.” He pulled himself upright and against Marvin’s side, one arm around his neck and the other patting his chest as if that did anything to calm down his naturally worrisome mind. “But the record player’s stopped.”

“Oh.” Marvin responded dumbly, blinking at the machine in question before starting toward it, pulling Whizzer along. He knew he could probably let go of him now he’d helped him stand up, but he didn’t want to risk it. After all, the alcohol might have worsened his dizziness. Hell if he was going to let him fall down and risk fracturing his ribs, for real this time.

“Tell me,” Whizzer asked, stepping away from him as he perused the record collection he had stashed on the shelf he’d directed them to, “Do you like Andrew Gold?”

Marvin watched his fingers leaf through the vinyl covers, watched his tongue dip out of his mouth and his brow furrow as he considered each individual album. “Andrew whom?”

Apparently that had been the wrong answer, because the shocked look he received was nearly enough to send him back into a fit of giggles.

Whizzer shook his head, mouth still hanging open in disbelief. “Wow. I can’t believe I let a man into my house who’s oblivious to the works of Andrew fucking Gold.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Marvin chuckled, shrugging “I’m sorry?”

“You’re fucking right you’re sorry.” Whizzer grinned, then swiftly put back the Elton John vinyl into its cover, placed it decisively somewhere in the middle of the collection, and put on a new one in its place on the record player. Marvin marvelled at the shiny state of it; it looked just as neat and cherished as the rest of the room. As Whizzer himself. Whizzer, who was now turning back to Marvin expectantly as the first notes of an upbeat song began to ring out. His eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement, and he was biting his lip as he tilted his head in question.

_Thank you for being a friend_

“I’ve never heard this song in my entire life.”

_Traveled down the road and back again  
Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant_

“God!” Whizzer laughed, then promptly took his hands and pulled him into the centre of the room, shuffling carefully to avoid losing his balance. “Come on, dance with me.”

_I’m not ashamed to say I hope it always will stay this way_

“Excuse me, you want me to do _what_?”

_My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow_

“Do I look like someone who knows how to dance?” He asked when no reply came except an amused shrug. Despite his protested disinterest he stiffly moved along with Whizzer, only slightly less mortified than he would be if he was stone-cold sober. “Just so you know, I haven’t danced since my bar mitzvah.”

Whizzer, once again, laughed. And really, how could Marvin say no to him when he lit up the room like that? So he started swaying awkwardly as Whizzer sang along to the song, all the while moving to the beat effortlessly.

“ _And if you threw a party, invited everyone you knew, you would see, the biggest gift would be from me, and the card attached would say, thank you for being a friend!”_

It was the easiest thing in the world to get mesmerized by his voice, and the song passed in a delightful blur of staring alternatively at the man before him, his moving lips and his own feet as he listened to Whizzer’s voice, incredulous. No man should be able to sing so beautifully.

Eventually, and indeed unfortunately, the song faded out.

“So, what’s your verdict, Mr. Marvin?”

“Your voice is…God, I mean… You sing really well.” Marvin stammered, frustrated at his inability to convey the depth of his appreciation. He looked over Whizzer’s shoulder, shaking his head at himself. “I mean it.”

“I _know_ , right?” Smirking, Whizzer studied his eyes too carefully for his liking, but if he found something distressing, he didn’t comment on it. “Thank you, though.” And now his voice was small and gentle, making Marvin catch his eyes again. There was that funny look again, sending his heart right to his throat. “But what about the music?”

_Oh_. Of course. Of course he’d been asking about Andrew… _whatever_. “Yeah, it’s – it’s great. I like it.”

As Whizzer explained the genius of the singer, the next song started coming on; it was upbeat with a steady but slower tempo. Under the pretence of dancing, Marvin looked down at their – still – interjoined hands; Whizzer swung them lightly between them along to the beat of the music. His hands were bigger than Marvin’s, and more elegant as well, with perfectly manicured nails and slender fingers which locked into his. They were softer, too. Marvin idly wondered if he moisturized them every morning, then what they would smell like. Then he wondered why he wondered that.

“Hey, Marv,” Whizzer’s voice cut sharply through his thoughts. “You still with me? Because you sure as hell aren’t dancing. Let me teach you, okay? First rule: don’t look at your feet. Just loosen up and feel the rhythm. Eyes up here, yeah?”

“Told you I suck at this.” Marvin muttered, then promptly let out a surprised sound as Whizzer pulled him closer and untangled their hands to put them on Marvin’s shoulders. He pushed him from side to side, forcing Marvin to start swaying along to his movements.

“Second rule,” Whizzer went on, taking Marvin’s free left hand and laying it firmly on his own waist, “is keep in contact with your partner.” His shirt was thin and soft, and Marvin could feel warmth bleeding through the fabric. He huffed out a breath and frowned, forcing himself to focus on Whizzer’s instructions.

Already moving to put his right hand on his waist too, Whizzer grabbed it before it could land, squeezing softly as he grinned down at him. “Third rule: at least try and look like you’re having fun.”

“I am.” Marvin frowned again. _Oh_. He quickly undid the frown.

“Just take a deep breath and listen to the music. Jeez, why are you so tense?”

_First of all_ , Marvin wanted to say, _it doesn’t help that you’re smiling at me like that all the time. And second of all, I think I might have a massive crush on you. And you’re touching me and standing so very close to me, much too close to me, and it feels so fucking good._ However, he doubted severely that voicing any of that would be in any way useful, so he simply nodded. Silently, he followed Whizzer’s advice and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. He immediately found that this was possibly the worst piece of advice he could have given him since it only served to heighten his senses, making the places on his skin where Whizzer was currently touching him feel aflame with electricity. So he blinked open his eyes, releasing his breath with an expertly supressed shudder and opted for his second suggestion.

_I feel like a kid with a teenage crush on a schoolday  
(On a schoolday afternoon)_

_You’re damn right I do_ , he thought, catching himself studying the subtle cupid’s bow of Whizzer’s perfectly formed lips.

“See? That’s better already.”

“Really?” Sarcasm seeped into Marvin’s voice off its own accord.

_I feel like the lead in Romeo and Juliet, yeah  
I'm a little bit dizzy, I'm a little bit scared_

And Whizzer lied through his teeth, obviously biting down a bout of laughter; his eyes were shining wide and lips stretched into a near-grin. “A little.”

“I’m a disaster, right?” Marvin chuckled, hanging his head in mock-disappointment.

“A little.” He repeated, squeezing his shoulder.

_I guess I never felt this much aware_  
_That I'd love her_  
 _I'm hoping that I never recover_

Marvin looked up with a smile. There was a strand of his perfectly styled hair swaying dangerously close to his eyes, but Whizzer didn’t seem to care. He was too busy singing the lyrics in his stupidly perfect voice with his stupidly perfect mouth with its stupidly perfect lips, hair bouncing wildly to his enthusiastic head movements, “ _I really only met her 'bout a week ago, But it doesn't seem to matter to my heart—”_

And _fuck_. Marvin thought he might faint if Whizzer kept looking at him like that. What was worse, he was close enough that if he stood up on his toes, if he guided his chin down… But he shot down that train of thought quickly, nervously licking his lips. Whizzer’s eyes shot down to follow the motion of his tongue, faltering slightly but suddenly enough in his dancing that Marvin couldn’t help but notice. _“I know that I love her…”_ He trailed off, eyes catching Marvin’s before flitting once more to his lips and back again. His lips quirked up in a devilish smirk. _I know_ , it said. And: _yes_. Marvin was pretty sure that he’d never in his life wanted to kiss another man so bad.

_I'm hoping that I never recover_ , repeated the man on the record player

“Whizzer,” Marvin heard himself whisper.

Whizzer said nothing. Whizzer leant down and kissed him.

At the feeling of Whizzer’s soft lips on his, Marvin’s brain short-circuited, and he froze as his heart worked overtime to resuscitate his mind. He felt Whizzer’s hand dig into his curls, his other still securely on his shoulder but inching closer to his neck now. Just as abruptly, however, he pulled back, staring at Marvin in confusion. “This is okay, right? I just assumed, since you’ve been staring at my lips all –”

This time it was Marvin who pulled him back into a kiss, pleased at the little moan that escaped his throat at the renewed contact. Marvin’s hands travelled up around Whizzer’s waist to pull his body tighter against himself, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He absolutely did not gasp when Whizzer pulled his hair, absolutely did not blush when Whizzer chuckled at that. He absolutely did return the sentiment, though, and discovered he quite liked the noises Whizzer made as a result. His mind was still spinning by the time he leant back, heart racing and breathing a little too hard for his liking. At least Whizzer looked at dishevelled as he felt, for once.

“Jesus, Whizzer.”

Whizzer smirked smugly, but his voice was husky as he said, “Yeah, I tend to get that.” Then he met his lips again and Marvin promptly forgot why he’d pulled away in the first place.

He let himself be pulled towards the sofa, but when he felt Whizzer come to a halt, he stepped around him and sat down before Whizzer could protest. The knowing smirk on his face made Marvin flush slightly at the tips of his ears, though that could be more to do with their kisses and anyway, he refused to acknowledge it.

“Alright, so we’re doing this.” Whizzer played with the hand Marvin was currently trying to tug him down with.

Marvin grinned. “Just get down here already.”

Whizzer’s eyebrow arched up as he lowered himself into Marvin’s lap agonizingly slowly and with a wolfish grin. “Sheesh, someone’s getting impatient.”

And God did it feel good to have the weight of such a pretty man in his lap, to feel his muscles tense and relax against himself. “I’m just…” Marvin inhaled sharply, damning his brain for flunking on him again and again this evening. “I need—”

“Me too, you dummy. So just shut up and kiss me again.”

Marvin huffed a laugh at the impatience seeping into his voice and burning in his eyes, reached up to lay a hand on the nape of his neck and pulled him down gently. “As you wish.” He murmured against Whizzer’s lips, before kissing that teasing smile away. Whizzer responded in kind, digging his hands in Marvin's curls again and effectively making him forget every last worry left in his head. And, Marvin thought, he didn't know how this thing was going to end, but he was damn well going to enjoy every single second of it.

Somehow, though, as Whizzer kissed him senseless, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd found something special in this person. In _Whizzer Brown_. And he wasn't about to let it slip out of his grasp anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Putting Whizzer through all this physically hurt me, but I was just aching to write Marvin rescuing Whizzer :')
> 
> Please let me know what you think! <3  
> As always, you can also find me on tumblr @scienceofdeducjohn


End file.
